Blood Brothers
by Disastergirl
Summary: When Maes Hughes goes missing, it's up to Roy Mustang to bring him home.But as the weeks since Hughes' rescue go by, it becomes clear that something is terribly wrong, something that may be beyond Roy's power to solve...
1. Rusting Iron, Drying Blood

_A/N: This is my first multi-chaptered story I've ever written, so it's all very exciting. I want to thank __**Sevlow**__ and __**Pyroluminescence**__- this story was inspired by a picture from Sevlow's Deviantart account and a story idea of Pyroluminescence's, and they very generously let me borrow their ideas. Also, my wonderful beta __**mebh **__deserves a mention- if it weren't for her I don't know if I'd have even gotten this far. Hope you like the story! Oh, and I nearly forgot, I don't own Fullmetal alchemist. Yet. _

Colonel Mustang stood in the middle of the dank cellar, fighting the mild feelings of claustrophobia that the confined space was eliciting in him. The low ceiling forced him to duck his head uncomfortably and his eyes strained to see clearly in the dim light. In the corner of his vision, Roy could just make out Lieutenant Hawkeye investigating the far corners of the room, gun held ready for any sign of threat, and he relaxed slightly. He instantly tensed again as he heard soft footsteps behind him, his right hand twitching at his side, before he realised it was Havoc. He turned to face the second lieutenant, who was now only a few feet away from him, his taller form hunched even more awkwardly beneath the concrete ceiling. Roy tried his best to banish his anxiety and fatigue, to muster up some hidden reserve of confidence and authority for the sake of his subordinate but he just couldn't do it. It seemed as if the last five weeks had sucked out all of his usual confidence, the constant stress and fear destroying his normally effortless composure. He hadn't slept for more than three hours at a time for weeks, and he couldn't even _remember_ when he'd last eaten a solid meal.

"Don't worry, Boss," he heard Havoc murmur behind him. "We'll find him, I'm sure of it." He paused slightly and Roy could tell he only half believed the words he was speaking. He continued speaking, nonetheless. "Even if he's not here, there are still plenty of leads we haven't ruled out yet. None of us are going to give up, Sir." Roy nodded tightly, not trusting himself to reply to Havoc's soft words of support, or even to turn and look at the man. He could not allow himself to accept the comfort- weak and unfounded as it was- that Havoc offered as he knew he would break down completely if he let his rigid mask slip, even for one second.

Five weeks… Maes had been missing for five weeks, and with every day that slipped uselessly by, Roy could feel the suffocating tendrils of terror tighten around him, the silent panic escalating until he felt unable to breathe. But Roy couldn't let his own fear overwhelm him; Maes was depending on him. His friend needed him to stay calm and in control, to methodically search every possible location, follow up every lead, until Maes was found and brought safely home to his family. An image of Gracia and Elysia's anxious faces flashed through his mind; determination mixed with dread. He would not- _could _not- fail them.

"Of course we will, Lieutenant," he replied smoothly. With what seemed like terrible effort, Roy turned around to face Havoc, his trademark confident smirk placed firmly on his lips. The protective façade that smile offered was wearing dangerously thin, had been for weeks now, and every moment that Hughes remained missing it grew more fragile, more likely to shatter. "Well, let's get a move on then, shall we? We've established this location is safe, now let's go and find what we came for."

Roy motioned to a squat, oak door on the far side of the room;, free of ornamentation or marking but sturdy-looking and heavily locked. He could see Havoc's look of apprehension- the doorframe was even lower than the ceiling, if such a thing were possible, and Roy could tell his lieutenant was not relishing having to crawl through whatever cramped, squalid passageway lay behind it.

Knowing Havoc would follow behind him, Roy moved to towards the door, pulling out a piece of chalk from his pocket as he did so. He found himself half wishing that Fullmetal were there with him- obnoxious as the kid was, he would have been useful for this. Roy knew, though, that he had made the right decision in insisting that Ed stay behind. The boy was desperate to help search for Hughes but in the back of his mind Roy acknowledged what he could not bring himself to think of consciously- that Hughes, when -_if_- they found him, would likely be in no state to be seen by the young man who admired him so much. Despite his insistence otherwise, Roy desperately wanted to protect Fullmetal from such situations, as much as was possible. The boy already had enough burdens.

Roy sketched a simple array on the heavy wooden door and the lock sprang open, the entrance leading, as predicted, onto another narrow, dark staircase. But unlike the creaky, wooden stairs that had brought them to the cellar, these steps were steep and uneven, made of rough-cut, ancient stone. The damp walls were flecked with moss and the air felt stagnant and musty. Behind him, Roy could hear Havoc muttering a prayer to ward off evil influences- a remnant from his second lieutenant's upbringing in the rural West. Roy himself set no store in such superstitions, but even _he_ felt as if a strange chill passed over him as he gazed into the gloom of the subterranean passageway. He was a man of science, of reason, but the unrelenting darkness had a deeply unsettling aura about it that set his teeth on edge; a cloying, oppressive air of malevolence.

Shaking off his feelings of unease, Roy raised one gloved hand and turned his attention to transmuting a light source to guide their way through the dark tunnel. The normally simple task was complicated by the limited supply of oxygen in either the cellar they were standing in or the tunnel they were about to enter. Concentrating on the movement of the air above him, Roy pulled down a fresh stream of oxygen from the street above, silently thankful that Breda and Fuery had remembered to keep the doors open. Havoc started slightly as he felt the gentle rush of cool air brush his cheek, shooting his boss a look of admiration. Roy supposed Havoc had never had really seen how versatile his alchemy could be.

Now for the slightly more tricky part:- providing a fuel that would burn at a slow, constant rate and could be easily controlled. Carefully, Roy manipulated the molecules of carbon dioxide and water in the stale, damp air round them, recombining the elements to produce methane gas. A snap of his fingers ignited the compact, gaseous globe, the soft, golden light chasing away the murky shadows crowding around them. Roy adjusted the transmutation to make it self-sustaining, the products of the combustion reforming to maintain the fuel and oxygen needed to keep the globe burning. It probably would have been easier, the part of his mind still capable of wry observation noted, to have remembered to bring a lamp.

Roy felt a light touch on his arm as Lieutenant Hawkeye returned to his side. He turned to look at her for a moment, trying to draw strength from the silent support he could see in her deep, amber eyes. Then, with a confidence he did not feel, Roy turned back to the doorway and stepped into the tiny passage, motioning for his lieutenants to follow.

Roy walked cautiously down the steep stairs, the globe of light casting eerie shadows on the walls. The sound of his boots hitting the stone seemed unnaturally loud in the lifeless silence of the tunnel. Behind him, he could hear Havoc's heavy footfalls, his second lieutenant's movements made clumsy by the cramped space. Hawkeye's precise, measured steps sounded in his ear, her presence providing a reassuring stability as she walked- as always- two paces behind him. As they descended further down the winding staircase, however, Roy became aware of other, far less comforting sounds rising up from the darkness. High-pitched, animalistic wailing reverberated throughout the tunnel, growing in strength with every step that they took. The inhuman cries were a cacophony of many different pitches and volumes but each wordless voice spoke vividly in a single message of suffering. Roy could hear Havoc's feet shuffling with a discomfort that had nothing to do with the low ceiling and found himself silently agreeing with his subordinate. Just what kind of place were they heading into, exactly?

Rounding yet another twist of the roughly spiral stairway, a second, equally disturbing sound joined the echoing screams- a constant, frantic scratching that made Roy's skin crawl. The noise told of a terror so primal, so embedded in living consciousness, that it took all of Roy's self control to force himself to continue walking towards the source of the ancient, unknown horror, even as all his most base instincts told him to run, to return to the brightness and safety of the world outside the tunnel. The thought that Maes could be trapped in this hellish, subterranean prison, doubtless mistreated and suffering, spurred him on, his footsteps increasing in speed as they neared the end of the stairs.

As Roy turned the final corner, he stopped dead. The sight that greeted his eyes was horrific, every bit as awful as the tortured screams had promised. The stairway entered onto a dark, cavernous space, lit only by a few flickering torches and a handful of old-fashioned oil lamps. The floor was painted wet and sticky with blood, freshly spilt by its ruby-red appearance, with older, muddier stains clearly visible in the places where the newest crimson coating had not yet encroached. The smell was cloying and almost unbearable- a mixture of the sharp, bitter tang of potent chemicals and the sickly-sweet stench of blood and decay. Rusting iron cages lined each of the walls and it was only once Roy's eyes had adjusted to the dim, shadowy light of the vast dungeon enough to clearly make out the writhing shapes that lay behind the bars that he understood the terrible extent of the nightmare they had stumbled upon.

Hideous, misshapen creatures crowded the squalid cages, their demented, bloodshot eyes rolling back and forth inside their skulls as they threw themselves at the metal bars, clawing, biting and scratching each other in a desperate effort to escape. This close, the noise was overwhelming, the howls, shrieks, screams and moans of each creature amplified by the vast, domed ceiling. The creatures themselves were abominations that almost defied rational belief; each beast seemingly sewn together from the mangled remains of other, more recognisable life forms. Here, the head of a lion attached to an eagle's body, there, a snake's scaly skin encasing a gazelle's willowy form, its mouth open to reveal venomous fangs. Eight monstrous, spindly legs stretched out from between the bars of one cage and Roy could see there was the head and torso of an ape attached to the oversized arachnid body.

_Chimera_; his mind whispered darkly as he struggled to suppress the horrified shiver that he felt building inside him. One of the most ancient and controversial of alchemic arts, the successful transmutation of a chimera, an unnatural beast fused from the bodies of many different creatures, was a prize that had been sought by many practitioners throughout the centuries. It was only recently, however, with the State sponsorship of chimera research, that any great leaps had been made in the arcane field. Roy had heard Basque Gran speak very highly of the pioneering work of Shou Tucker, the Sewing Life alchemist, and there were always whispered rumours of the mysterious research being conducted behind the walls of Lab Three. Surveying the suffering, deformed creatures in front of him, Roy felt his stomach twist in distaste at the thought of his fellow State Alchemists being involved in such sordid affairs.

"Hawkeye, Havoc," Roy heard himself say to the two lieutenants standing behind him, his voice raised to drown out the howling of the chimeras, somehow remaining steady despite the terror and fatigue weighing down on him. He could sense his officers' own unease even without seeing their faces, could tell that they, like him, were fighting to maintain their professional demeanour in the face of such horror. "Spread out and investigate the area. Check for any signs that Lieutenant Colonel Hughes is here, or that he may ever have been. Look in the cages but be careful- I don't have to tell you how dangerous those chimeras could be."

The two officers assented sharply, both moving out from behind Roy, their guns out of their holsters. Riza turned to glance questioningly at him as she passed and Roy shot her an answering look- _go with Havoc, I'll be fine- _before tugging at his gloves and striding off in the opposite direction, his eyes darting about constantly in search of danger. Sticky, thickening blood pooled around his boots as he walked and the globe of fire that he kept alight seemed only to paint the darkness a slightly paler shade, casting ominous shadows into the gloom. He felt light-headed with exhaustion and the strain of maintaining such a delicately balanced transmutation for so long, but he couldn't afford to rest now. Roy glanced down at the blood still flowing over the rough slabs of stone, noticing that it appeared to be seeping out from under the doors of one of the cages against the far wall. He followed the lazy red stream back to its source, noticing with alarm that several cages were unlocked and open, their thick bolts seemingly torn apart, a feat of strength no human was capable of.

Roy peered into one of the cages, warily pushing open the unlocked door. There was no movement from within the cramped cell, but in the dim lighting he could just about see the shape of a creature lying near the wall and he was not about to take any chances that the thing was not completely dead. As he approached the huddled form, Roy could tell that his caution was unnecessary- the beast, a hairless, dog-like chimera, was clearly dead. Its throat had been ripped open, the furrowed cartilage of its trachea split in two, dark, thickening blood still oozing slowly from the severed tube. The creature's head was bent back at a vicious angle, its eyes staring blankly, wide and unseeing. Small wounds marred its pale hide. - Roy shifted the globe of light closer to see more clearly- teeth marks? Perhaps one of the chimeras had escaped? No, he realised with a quick stab of horror, the bites were not from any enraged hybrid. The small, neat marks were from _human_ teeth.

Gingerly, Roy examined the body more closely, being careful not to let any of the congealing blood stain his gloves and render him powerless. Muddy shadows striped across the chimera's emaciated frame as the fiery orb beyond the bars grew sickly with his fatigue but they could not obscure the vivid, bloody handprints pressed viciously into the pitiful creature's naked skin. Roy's mind reeled in horror, almost unable to comprehend such an atrocity. He could not accept the hideous speculation that already whispered in the darkest recesses of his mind. Surely, _surely,_ Hughes would not be found in a place such as this.

He stepped back from the corpse, pressing his back against the hard metal of the bars of the neighbouring cell- there were no walls that separated the rabid, unnatural beasts, just thin slats of iron. It wasn't until he felt four long, slender limbs creep slowly around his body that he realised his dreadful mistake. The spider-chimera's grip tightened as he tried to move away, one monstrous leg brushing gently against his face, curiously exploring this newest intruder. Roy felt panic rising uncontrollably within him and he reacted on instinct, struggling wildly against the nightmarish embrace, his hands grabbing desperately at the chimera's limbs as he fought uselessly to escape. The globe of light flickered weakly before extinguishing completely, the transmutation forgotten as blind, senseless terror overtook him.

The loss of illumination was like a slap to the face, freeing him from the cloying fog of panic. Roy forced himself to be still, taking slow, calming breaths - , the sudden absence of the fire belatedly reminding him of his own abilities. There was no need for him to give in uselessly to his fear.

Roy raised his hand and snapped, carefully aiming the flames through the bars of the cage, as far away from himself as possible. A bright stream of heat and light rushed past his face before enveloping the monstrous creature. Its shrill, agonised screams echoed off the cavern walls, the shrieking voice of an ape stirring a measure of horrified pity from Roy. This wretched creature could not be blamed for the monstrosity of its own nature. The fault lay at the feet of the beast's creator; some deranged criminal masquerading as a man of science.

The chimera's grasp loosened, shrinking away behind the bars once more as the creature curled in on itself in its agony. Roy leapt away at once, his boots knocking against the dog-chimera's corpse as he did so. The scent of burning flesh assaulted his senses- different, perhaps, from that which he was most used to, but no less horrific. The acrid smell of charred chitin and evaporated fat mixed together in the airless cell made him want to gag. Roy fought down his nausea and tried to calm his shaken nerves as he heard the sound of running feet approaching. Havoc and Hawkeye had doubtless heard the screaming even if they had not seen the fire and would be anxious to know that he was okay.

"Colonel Mustang! Sir, are you alright?" Hawkeye shouted, concern obvious in her voice. He could see her running towards him, holding a burning torch in one hand, her gun in the other. Havoc was at her shoulder, gun raised, eyes darting all around for any sign of further danger.

"I'm fine!" He called, walking as steadily as he could out of the cell. Hawkeye had reached the door now. She glanced towards the smoking, shuddering body of the chimera, a brief look of horrified disgust flitting across her face. Roy moved towards her, meeting her anxious gaze. "I let my guard down. One of the chimeras tried to grab me but I managed to fight it off using my alchemy. I'm unharmed, I promise."

Hawkeye nodded sharply, only her eyes betraying her relief. She turned back towards the chimera, which was now issuing low moans of pain and fear, its scorched limbs shrivelled and twitching horribly. Roy could not bring himself to look at it, instead focussing on her steady, amber gaze. As if reading his thoughts, Hawkeye turned silently and shot the beast, aiming through the bars. The bullet struck the chimera in its head, killing it instantly. Roy breathed a soft sigh of gratitude and relief, thankful that the pitiful creature had been spared from further suffering.

Having determined that her colonel was safe, Hawkeye allowed a small smile to grace her features as she softly replied. "Weren't you the one who told us, only a few minutes ago, to be careful around these chimeras? Really, Sir, you're impossible."

Roy returned the smile weakly, moving with her as she walked over to the cage. He showed her the body of the dog-chimera and the suspicious teeth marks upon its skin and they shared a look of muted horror, neither wanting to speculate on what this might mean but both unable to stop from doing so. Roy motioned Havoc over from where he had been keeping watch, several yards away. Havoc turned to join them but then stopped abruptly and, even in the dim light of Hawkeye's torch, his shock was clear.

"Hey, Boss, come over here. I think you need to see this," Havoc called. He was staring into the cage next to the one that had housed the spider-chimera, so far overlooked in all the drama. Roy rushed to stand by his side, Hawkeye following closely with the torch. Together they followed Havoc's gaze to inside the squalid cell, the flickering light of the torch leaving no room for doubt of the sight before them.

A narrow bed was pushed up against the far wall, away from the reach of the chimeras on either side. The bed was bolted to the floor and- Roy's heart clenched painfully with unease at the sight- fitted with a full set of restraints. His cautious investigation confirmed that these had not been disturbed, suggesting that whoever had been imprisoned here- and it could not have been Maes, surely it could not have been Maes- had not escaped but had been set free willingly. But where were they now? And what terrible things had been done to them?

Roy was still inspecting the area around the bed when a sudden burst of colour caught his eye, a thin rectangle against the dull, grey stone. He picked it up curiously, his mind taking a while to comprehend the image before him. When it did, Roy felt as if he had been stabbed in the chest, the full force of agonised realisation sweeping away all his doubts and denials. There, in his hand, lay a small, tattered photograph of Elysia Hughes, her chubby, three year old face lit up in an impish grin that seemed so out of place in the dark horror of the underground prison. The picture was undeniable proof that Hughes was here, or had been at some point; held captive by some insane alchemist, suffering torment that Roy could not bear to imagine. He felt hatred and rage building inside him at the thought of his best friend strapped helplessly to this filthy little bed, listening to the screeches and wails of the chimeras all around him, refused any amount of comfort or dignity. Roy forced himself to push the anger away, to concentrate on the task at hand. Hughes could easily still be alive, somewhere within this hellish dungeon, desperately waiting for Roy to rescue him. Roy could not allow himself to let his friend down.

Silently, Roy walked over and handed the photograph to Hawkeye, trying hard to ignore her quiet gasp when she realised, instantly, what it meant. He looked at both her and Havoc in turn, his voice strong and confident despite his fear. He would stay as strong as he needed to be, until Hughes was safe.

"Alright, this photograph is proof that Hughes was definitely held here at some point in the last five weeks, and it's likely that he is still here. Many of these chimeras are still alive, which means that whoever was keeping them down here must still be around, or gone recently. We need to continue searching and see if we can find any further clues as to the colonel's whereabouts, or if not, the identity of the person responsible for this... place." Roy was unable to keep the twist of disgust out of his voice as he spoke those last words. It was similar, in many ways, to the way he had felt when he first arrived in Ishval, when he realised the duties the military had wanted him to perform. Whoever had created this horrific laboratory had tainted the science of alchemy, dirtied it and twisted it to suit their own depraved goals.

"Understood, Sir," Hawkeye replied. She followed him as he stepped out of the cage, her sharp eyes squinting in the dim light. Not for the first time, Roy was thankful for her presence. He could hardly see a thing. She pointed to something in the shadows, a slightly different shaded darkness to the rest of the cavern wall. Carefully, he used his alchemy to increase the oxygen supply to the torch, making the flame burn brighter and the shapes in the dark clearer. His head swam from even that small exertion and Hawkeye shot him a look of concern but he resolutely ignored it. He could not afford to be tired here.

The dark shape turned out to be a door, made from dark, ornately carved wood, much like the one that had led to the tunnel. Roy walked towards it, motioning for his lieutenants to follow. Carefully, he opened the door, not locked as the one above ground had been, and stepped through.

The room turned out to be a laboratory, small and tidy, a startling contrast to the vastness and squalor of the dungeon before it. There were a few kerosene lamps burning on the walls, their flames stuttering and flickering weakly. Roy looked around, trying to gain whatever information he could from the objects around him. The alchemical apparatus lining the two benches and the shelves appeared somewhat outdated but the diagrams and transmutation circles sketched on the walls were undoubtedly advanced. There was a large blackboard, with scribbled equations and drawings and a traditional alchemical furnace that looked as if it hadn't been lit in years. Then there was-

There was a body on the floor. Roy could see the feet sticking out from behind the bench closest to the wall. He stepped cautiously into the room, Hawkeye only a few steps behind. He could feel his heart beating painfully in his chest, fear battling hope. He wished desperately to find Maes, but he did not know if he could bear being faced with his best friend's corpse. But if Maes were not here, after all? Would he be searching for him forever?

For what seemed like the hundredth time that day, Roy forced his mind to stop wandering in such fatalistic directions and instead to focus on the task at hand. He rounded the corner of the bench and gazed down at the body, an unidentifiable surge of emotions welling up inside him when he realised it was not Maes that lay there lifeless on the floor before him. This man was far older and far shorter, dressed in plain, grey trousers and a threadbare doctor's coat that perhaps had been white, once. He was clearly dead, his face contorted into a frozen grimace of horror, his watery blue eyes wide and unblinking. There was no movement of the chest, no sound of breathing. The closer Roy examined the body, however, the more he realised that something was wrong. He had seen corpses before, more than he could count in Ishval. More still, when he had helped Maes with a few of his cases. He knew that pallor and coldness were to be expected, but this... the body was _too _pale, its skin seeming somehow shrivelled and shrunken against its bones. Roy lifted an icy hand from the floor- no livor mortis; the blood should have pooled in the palms, pulled down by the tug of gravity, but there was nothing. There was, however, a small staining of almost fresh blood around the man's collar, rusty red against the stark whiteness of his skin. He pulled it down to check for a wound and felt his breath catch in his throat as he saw the same, neat, _human_ bite marks that had marred the skin of the dog-chimera. There was blood smeared around the wound, and faint, red finger marks at the man's neck.

Now that Roy saw the wound, the strange state of the body became clear. It had been drained of all blood, literally sucked dry. He felt sick with horror and disgust and had to force his racing mind to be silent, to stop all the theories and speculations chattering in his head. Stronger than the horror, however, was the familiar whispering of worry and dread. If this body was not Maes, then where was he? Had he met a similar end to this man? Roy felt no pity for the alchemist lying cold and lifeless before him; it was almost certain that this was the man responsible for the creation of the chimera and the imprisonment of his best friend, and so he had deserved his death, and worse, but it was not a fate Roy could countenance for the man he loved as a brother.

A terse, anxious call from his first lieutenant drew Roy out of his musings. He ran over to where Hawkeye was standing in the far corner of the tiny lab and stopped dead, a soft cry of shock forcing its way out of his mouth before he could stop it. There, sprawled out, motionless on the stone, was Maes Hughes. He was covered completely in blood; its sticky, half-dried wetness staining his strange, hospital-like clothes, clumping together in his too-long hair, coating his cheeks and forehead. His lips were smeared red and small beads of blood had congealed as they ran, lazily, down his chin. Roy dropped to his knees before the body of his friend, breathing out a harsh sigh of relief that sounded disconcertingly like a sob when he realised that Maes was still breathing. Roy checked his pulse. Maes' heartbeat throbbed strong and steady beneath his fingers, even stronger, perhaps, than was normal.

Not allowing himself to give into relief just yet, Roy ghosted his hands over Maes' body, searching for signs of a wound, some indication of where the blood could be coming from. He found nothing. But confusion and dark whispers of suspicion soon gave way to relief and joy at having finally found his best friend, alive and - at least apparently- unharmed. He felt dizzy with the happiness the news brought, his head swimming wildly as white spots spreading across his vision. For weeks he had pushed himself to his limits, surviving off enough brief snatches of sleep to stave off absolute exhaustion, forcing himself relentlessly to follow up every lead, search every location. Now, with Maes only a stretcher ride away from safety, Roy felt the fine threads that had been holding him together begin to fray and snap. Lieutenant Hawkeye was speaking to him and her voice was suddenly too loud for the small room, though he could not understand a word she was saying. His tongue was thick and fuzzy in his mouth, and when he tried to force it to fashion a response, white patches sprung up in front of his vision, growing and multiplying until he could see little else. Roy reached out desperately for something, anything, to steady himself, but it was already too late. He was sinking backwards, dizzying white being replaced with all-consuming dark and the sudden rush of coldness. Then, all sensation left him and he couldn't feel anything at all.

_A/N: Thanks so much for reading, please leave a review if you have time! _


	2. A Warm Smile

_A/N: Well, the month or so between posting chapter one and this chapter do not really set a good precedent... but I will try and do better in future! Anyway, thanks so much to my amazing beta __**mebh**__, who not only beta'd but also listened good naturedly to my constant whining about how difficult it was to write this chapter. _

_Disclaimer: Unfortunately, I do not yet own FMA. However, my lawyers assure me the situation looks promising._

* * *

Riza Hawkeye did not look impressed. A familiar mixture of concern and exasperation painted her features as she stood by the door to Roy's bedroom, watching him struggle with the buttons on his uniform jacket. His mind still felt dull and hazy from fatigue, despite being unconscious for the best part of an hour, and the ordinarily simple task now seemed almost impossible. After his collapse, while Havoc and the rest of the team rushed Hughes to hospital, Hawkeye had been left to tend to the exhausted colonel, enlisting the help of a couple of strong armed and tight lipped sergeants to bring him back to his home. There - Roy could only assume – she had cleaned him of the blood that had covered his face and settled him into bed to sleep. Normally Roy would have jumped at the chance to have Hawkeye nursing him at his bedside, but now there was room for only one concern in his mind.

"Sir, I really think you should rest now, instead of rushing off to the hospital. Hughes is doing well. He's in good hands; the doctors in Central Hospital are the best in the country," she told him, with infuriating calm. "It'd be much better for you to get a few hours of sleep before you go and see him. I gather he's still unconscious anyway." Hawkeye's tone made it clear that she knew she was fighting a losing battle but was determined not to give in too easily. Roy tried his best to ignore the fine thread of worry in his lieutenant's voice, along with the stab of guilt that accompanied it. His collapse after Maes' discovery had scared her more than she was willing to admit, that had been clear to him since he had awoken, and he knew his refusal to rest would only cause her further anxiety.

"I appreciate your concern, Lieutenant, but I am fine." He tried to match the calm in her voice with his own, but his efforts sounded weak even to himself.

"I'd much rather get to the hospital and check on Hughes than stay here and do nothing but sleep. Even if I can't be of any help, I'd still like to see my friend." He was being unfair to her, but he couldn't help it. He had to get to Hughes, had to see with his own eyes what condition his best friend was in. Hawkeye assured him that Havoc had said that the doctors saw no cause for concern when they examined Hughes, that he was now resting and expected to wake up within the next day. Roy knew neither of them would ever lie to him but the memory of Hughes' body lying bloodstained and comatose on the ground of that awful laboratory was not something he could forget. He could not rest easy until he knew for certain that Maes was going to be alright.

Despite her protests, Hawkeye made no attempt to stop him as he strode out of the house, his hair still tangled from sleep and dark shadows smudged under his eyes. She did insist on driving, however, a decision Roy could hardly take issue with given the way he was feeling.

As his lieutenant drove carefully through the crowded streets of Central, Roy rested his head against the window and watched the familiar scenery pass slowly by. Despite his own cautious admonishments not to be too hopeful, to expect nothing and plan only for the worst, Roy could not stop the excitement and joy simmering quietly inside of him. His best friend had been rescued, was recovering in safety and Roy was going to be able to see him for the first time in months.

Of course, being stationed in East City as he was, Roy often went several months without visiting Maes but this time was different. This time, Hughes hadn't been just a phone call away. He had been lost, stolen cruelly away from all those who cared for him, as good as dead for those five terrible weeks he was missing. But that was all over now. Hughes was home, alive, and Roy would personally see to it that he stayed that way for as long as possible.

Roy pushed open the door and entered the small hospital room, not waiting for the doctor that escorted him there. Gracia Hughes was sitting at her husband's bedside, opposite the door. She smiled gently at him when she saw him enter and a jolt of relief ran through Roy's body. He had been afraid that she would turn him away, wanting to be alone with her husband after so long without him. Roy supposed he should have known better than to doubt her- Gracia was nothing if not generous and understanding.

But it was the figure lying motionless in the bed that really caught his attention. A soft gasp escaped his mouth before he could stop it and heat sprung to the corner of his eyes, exhaustion and joy forbidding him any mastery of his own emotions. He swallowed tightly to try and dispel the sudden lump in the back of his throat, tugging at the collar of his crumpled shirt, his fingers brushing against a pulse that was too fast, too frantic. His heart was beating almost as quickly as it had back in the underground laboratory, when he had first discovered Maes, and the giddy rush of blood though his veins threatened to prompt another bout of light-headedness. He forced himself to take a series of slow, quiet, calming breaths and concentrate on the moment before him, on the pure, untainted joy of the occasion.

Maes Hughes looked so healthy, so peaceful and unharmed, as if the last five weeks had never happened at all. He had been cleaned of the blood that had coated his face and body and, freshly washed and swathed in crisp, white cotton sheets. He looked as if he were lying in sleep. There were no cuts or bruises marring his face or arms and a soft, pinkish tinge suffused his cheeks, a sharp contrast to the deathly pallor Roy had been expecting. Roy walked over to stand by Gracia's side at the bed, his eyes never leaving Maes' sleeping form. His best friend's chest rose and fell gently beneath the hospital sheets, his breathing steady and deep. Relief flooded into Roy anew with every gentle inhalation and exhalation of air into Maes' lungs, each precious breath proof that his friend still lived. Gracia shot him a soft smile of reassurance when she saw him and dimly he considered that it should be _he_ who was reassuring _her_, that he owed it to her to be strong in this situation. Her hand was clasped tightly around her husband's, her fingers gently stroking his skin. Roy felt like an intruder, he had no right to witness such a private moment of tender concern, nor disturb the first few precious moments that Gracia had alone with her husband since his rescue. Maes was safe, that was all that was important. He was safe, and now Roy had seen him and assured himself of that fact. It would have to be enough.

He turned to leave but stopped when he felt a hand resting warmly on his arm, the gentle touch preventing him from moving away. Roy looked down and found himself staring into Gracia Hughes' deep, green eyes. Her gaze was warm and compassionate and he marvelled that she could look upon him so kindly when she herself must be fraught with worry for the man she loved.

"Col- Roy. You don't have to leave now... please don't feel that you do. Maes...he would want you to be here too." Gracia's eyes shifted sideways, towards the man that lay unmoving on the bed, her slender fingers gripping his sleeve with renewed strength.

"I know how hard you worked to find him, all this time he's been... missing. He could have been lost forever if it weren't for you, Roy. You never gave up, even when it seemed hopeless, when everyone else thought Maes was already dead. I can never thank you enough for that."

She spoke warmly, her voice sincere, but there was a pain laced into every word that made Roy unable to accept the gratitude she gave him. Gracia should not be thanking him when he failed her so badly... he had been unable to protect Maes from this, then unable to find him for five whole weeks. Five weeks of Elysia crying herself to sleep every night, five weeks of hopeless, endless terror, of wishing and praying desperately for her husband to return to her side. Who knew what unimaginable horrors Maes had suffered during those long weeks, what twisted experiments that depraved alchemist had conducted on his friend. Remembering the rows of filthy cages and the echoing shrieks and howls of the unnatural creatures that filled them, Roy could all too easily imagine the atrocities Maes must have endured in that underground prison, despite his seemingly uninjured appearance. No, he thought bitterly, Gracia did not owe him any thanks.

"Thank you for your consideration, Gracia. But I think it would be best if I were to leave now. I don't want to disturb you any further, after you've been without Maes for so long."

Perceptive as ever, Gracia seemed to sense the direction of his thoughts despite the careful control he kept over his voice and his features. She turned her gaze back towards him, her eyes like cool green oases, reflecting a calm he knew she must not feel.

"Roy, what happened was not your fault. You were in East City, how could you have been expected to have been able to prevent it? You've done so much to find Maes; no one could have found him quicker than you did. He's alive now only because of you. So please, don't blame yourself."

He opened his mouth to protest that he did not feel that way, but she forestalled him before he could begin to speak.

"I meant what I said; that Maes would want you here when he woke up. You should know by now, he considers you as part of his family; he loves you like a brother. I will have plenty of time to spend alone with Maes after he wakes up," Gracia smiled shyly, her eyes flickering back to her husband's peaceful face, "but I know for that moment when he first returns to us, Maes will want as many members of his family to be with him as possible.

"Besides..." she continued, the calm assurance suddenly gone from her voice, her words filled with hesitance. She looked away as she spoke, glancing towards the floor as if embarrassed. "I'm ashamed to admit this, but I don't want to be alone with Maes when he's in this... condition. It's so quiet; he's so still and unresponsive... I can't cope with it. Being alone with him like this... I feel afraid. Afraid that he'll never wake up, that I'll be waiting in this hospital room for him for the rest of my life. If you were here too... I think the silence would be easier to bear. So please, will you stay with me?"

Roy nodded mutely, momentarily stunned by her almost pleading admission of vulnerability. Guilt flooded him at having forced her, however unintentionally, to speak so desperately, to expose so much of her own fears and weaknesses. Of course he should have realised that she would feel unsettled to see her husband in such a state. Instead he had been too wrapped up in his concerns to spare hers a thought, his own insecurities forcing her to be strong for him when he should have been the one supporting her.

"Gracia, of course I'll stay." He murmured when he finally found his voice again. "I'm so sorry; I didn't even consider that you might feel that way. That was truly selfish of me."

Gracia said nothing but she smiled slightly, a smile filled with bravery and cautious hope. He returned it, dragging a chair to sit by her and join her in the quiet bedside vigil. He found her free hand and held it briefly, awkwardly trying to impart whatever comfort he could. Her fingers were warm as they wrapped around his, her eyes never leaving her husband's sleeping face.

* * *

Roy shifted uncomfortably in his seat; his cold hands wrapped around the warm paper cup as he breathed in the weak aroma of the hospital waiting room coffee and struggled desperately to stay awake. Hawkeye had brought him the drink only a few minutes ago, along with one for Gracia, and although it was watery and far too sweet for his taste, it was hot and full of caffeine and suddenly the most welcome thing in the world. Riza was not happy that he was staying in the hospital; that much was clear. Though he knew she understood why he must do so, he could not help but see the worry behind her patient smile as she'd passed him the cup, her sharp eyes searching his face for signs of exhaustion. Still, as he had remarked wryly when he'd told her that his visit would be longer than expected, if he was going to collapse again, a hospital would probably be the best place for it.

He glanced across at Gracia and she smiled back warmly, only the slight shadows under her eyes betraying how tired she too must have felt. They had kept watch at Maes' bedside for over two hours now, occasionally talking softly but mostly sitting in silence, their eyes never leaving the too-still body lying in the bed. Roy had wandered out into the corridor several times to waylay passing doctors and inquire, with increasing impatience, when the results of Maes Hughes' blood tests would be ready. Each time the answer was the same. The results were on their way: these tests were complex and took a long time, a few hours at the least. The doctors were doing everything they could and if Colonel Mustang could just be a bit more _patient_ about the matter...

Roy sighed harshly, rubbing a hand across his eyes and leaning back in his chair. He took a sip of his coffee, now only lukewarm and tasting worse than ever, and stole a glance at the large window looking out onto the city below. Central Hospital was one of the oldest buildings in the city and- with the exception of Military Headquarters, of course- the largest. The view from the higher floors was unparalleled, the bustling streets below laid out like a child's model city; miniature pedestrians and toy-like cars moving hurriedly against the neatly arranged backdrop. Streetlights were already beginning to cast tiny pools of light across the scene, sunset's warm golden glow having long since faded to the pale indigo of twilight, a few tentative stars beginning to emerge against the deepest expanses of the darkening sky.

A quiet knock on the door broke his contemplation of the scene and he looked round to see a young doctor peering into the room from the doorway, a bundle of papers and files held tightly under one white-coated arm. He looked slightly nervous, which Roy supposed was mostly due to his own short tempered behaviour towards all the medical staff after the third or fourth time he had asked after Hughes' test results.

"Mrs Hughes, Colonel Mustang," The doctor's voice sounded uneasy too and he still hadn't come into the room fully, instead standing awkwardly in the doorway, one hand clutching the door handle.

"Sorry to disturb you, but my name's Dr Staton, I'm one of the doctors involved in Mr Hughes' case. I have the results of his blood tests."

Gracia sprang up from her chair and rushed to the door, motioning hurriedly for the doctor to come into the room. Fear and hope battled in her voice when she spoke. "And... is he going to be alright?"

Dr Staton smiled reassuringly, seeming to relax now he was on familiar ground. He pulled out a file from the stack under his arm and ran his eyes over the pages. "Yes, Mrs Hughes, your husband should be fine. The tests showed no indications of any pathogens or toxins; he seems to have contracted no diseases and his liver and kidney function appear fine. As you are already aware, the basic physical examination conducted when Mr Hughes was admitted found no signs of injury, either external or internal. As for his current unresponsive state, due to the lack of signs of either physical trauma or toxins, we believe that this was likely brought on by some form of extreme shock or possibly hypoglycaemia: severely low levels of blood sugar. We will be able to take a blood sample to test for this within the next few hours."

"How long do think it will be before he wakes up?" Roy asked when Gracia nodded mutely. The news that Maes was fine, at least physically, was wonderful, but Roy couldn't help feeling that the doctor was holding something back. Roy had spent the last five years of his life working among some of the greatest liars, manipulators and obfuscators of truth that Amestris had to offer and this young doctor could not even come close to their talents. There was something he was not telling them, that much was clear.

The doctor blinked twice, clearly unsettled by the undercurrent of suspicion in Roy's voice. His bright blue eyes darted up from his file to meet Roy's gaze before quickly resuming his air of professionalism and concern and turning back to look at Gracia.

"As we are currently unsure of the cause of the coma or the circumstances surrounding it, it's hard to say with any accuracy, but both my colleagues and I believe it is very likely that Mr Hughes should wake up some time within the next few days, perhaps as soon as tomorrow or even tonight. However, if he doesn't wake up within this time frame, it isn't necessarily a cause for concern; there will still be a very reasonable chance that he will wake up within the next few weeks. And in the very unlikely event that that fails to happen, there are several new treatments that are available that may help to wake him artificially.

"However, Mrs Hughes, I must warn you," Dr Staton paused, his voice sobering as he gazed at Gracia intently. "As you know, your husband has been through a highly distressing ordeal and you must be aware that this could have an impact on his psychological health, at least in the short tem. When he first wakes up it will be perfectly natural for him to be on-edge and likely distressed. Of course, help will be available to enable him to adjust and cope with his feelings, if it is required, but we must ask you to be on the look out for any signs of unusual behaviour."

"I understand, Doctor. Thank you." Gracia smiled warmly at the doctor, her voice betraying not even the slightest hint of fear or shock. Roy was vividly reminded that Gracia, despite all her quiet charm and cosy domesticity, was no ordinary housewife. She was the wife of a soldier and had long since accepted the risks and realities that came along with a military lifestyle. Behind her pleasant, smiling face lay a steely determination to rival any soldier's and Roy knew she would not fail to see her husband through the wake of this awful event and back into normality once more.

Dr Staton nodded, his uneasy demeanour returning suddenly as he turned to address Roy. "Colonel Mustang, may I speak to you privately outside? I am aware that the military requires a full report on all non-routine hospital visits for their personnel and I thought it would be best if I were to discuss a few matters with you first, particularly as you are a good friend of Lieutenant Colonel Hughes."

"Of course." Perhaps now the doctor would reveal whatever it was that he had been holding back before. Clearly it was something he had been unwilling to discuss in front of Gracia, a thought that made Roy highly uneasy.

Outside the hospital room, the young doctor sighed heavily, running his free hand through his dishevelled blond hair. Roy couldn't help but be reminded of Havoc in that instant, despite his remaining distrust of the man. Dr Stanton's eyes darted about the corridor before guiding Roy towards a small alcove in the wall, less noticeable to any inquisitive observers.

"I didn't want to mention this in front of Mrs Hughes as I didn't want to worry her unnecessarily but... we found some extremely strange particles in Colonel Hughes' blood samples. We've checked against all major pathogens, toxins and other possible antigens and our technicians are in the process of checking any less common possibilities, but we all agree that these molecules are like nothing anyone has ever seen before. One of the technicians has some alchemical training and he said it looked like the particles could be some form of advanced biological alchemy."

A chill ran though Roy at his words. Images of the underground prison flashed before his eyes: the lab, the alchemical symbols scrawled across the walls and blackboard, the cages filled with deformed beasts... the man they found was an alchemist and Hughes had been his prime specimen. Of course he would have conducted experiments on him. Just because Roy could not see the results of any transmutation or modification, it did not mean that none had occurred.

"...I see," he replied quietly. "I take it you are going to include this in your report to the military?" It seemed that even after going to such lengths to rescue Hughes from the crazed alchemist, Roy would be unable to protect him from their own government. Roy was under no illusions as to what happened to those the military thought might be useful to their alchemic research programmes. Hughes would be taken away and experimented on yet again, the military claiming that he was 'unsafe' and had to be taken away from his family 'for their protection'. He would be locked away again, this time in a State-sanctioned cell and there would be absolutely nothing Roy would be able to do to stop it.

But to his surprise, the doctor shook his head slightly, his eyes darting wildly about the corridor for the second time. When he spoke again, it was practically a whisper, anxiety shadowing every word. "I wanted to speak to you in particular, Colonel Mustang, before any other military officers, because I had heard that you and Lieutenant Colonel Hughes were very close and so I assumed I could trust you to act in his best interest... before that of the military's."

At that, Roy nodded and Dr Staton sighed in relief. "Not all of my colleagues agree with me on this, but I am sure you understand why I am unwilling to present the military with this information, given that I, as a doctor, have a duty to keep my patients from harm."

Roy nodded again, both surprised and moved by the young doctor's bravery and selflessness. Speaking out against the military in such a way could alone be enough to permanently damage his career, not to mention deliberately withholding information that the State would consider useful. He regretted, suddenly, his initial suspicion and dislike of the man.

"Yes, of course. Thank you." Roy felt as if a heavy weight had been lifted from him with the doctor's words. Hughes was not condemned after all. He was safe and would recover. Whatever alchemical modifications had been done to him, Roy would fix them and he was confident that the Elric brothers would be eager to help too.

"Would it be possible for me to have one of the blood samples to examine? I have a subordinate who has considerable experience in biological alchemy and I myself am an alchemist. If the substances you have found in Hughes' blood are genuinely alchemical then I am sure we will be able to identify them." Seeing Dr Staton's uneasy expression, Roy hastened to add, "I would of course take care of all the necessary paperwork so that no suspicion fell on either of us for the missing blood sample." He knew he was asking for a lot, the doctor was already risking his job to keep Hughes out of the military's hands. But he needed a sample of the blood otherwise there was no way either he or Fullmetal could make any progress on finding out what had happened to Hughes. And while Hughes seemed perfectly healthy now, there was no telling what effect the strange particles could have.

The doctor sighed again. "I really shouldn't, but... I do appreciate that you are likely more able to help Lieutenant Colonel Hughes in this particular matter than I am. I know I don't have to tell you to be careful, Colonel Mustang."

* * *

The small electric lamp cast a dim, sickly light across the figure on the bed as Gracia sat huddled up in her uncomfortable chair, a thin hospital blanket wrapped around her shoulders. The scratchy wool chaffed against her neck but the room was far too cold to do without it. The cafeteria had long since closed, only the night staff staying on past midnight, so there was no chance of a warming cup of coffee, however much she might wish for it. Gracia knew that some parts of the hospital must still be bustling with activity despite the late hour; the emergency room, the intensive care unit, but in this remote wing, far from the centre of the building, all was quiet. Gracia cast a quick glance to the corner of the room where Colonel Mustang slept awkwardly on a waiting room chair, his heavy black coat curled around his body and his head leaning sideways in a way that Gracia knew would be highly uncomfortable when he awoke. Once she had realised the true extent of his exhaustion, she had tried to insist that he go home and rest, to forget what she had said before, but it was no use. He had stubbornly ignored both hers and Lieutenant Hawkeye's concern and had refused to leave the hospital, stepping out of the room only a few times to talk again with the young doctor from several hours before, until finally surrendering to his fatigue.

Colonel Mustang had not told her what their conversation had been about when he had returned from first talking to the doctor, saying only that it had been related to the military. Gracia had thought it best not to ask; she already owed so much to him. She knew that Colonel Mustang -_Roy_- had worked himself into such a dangerous state of exhaustion only through searching for her husband, that if it were not for his tireless dedication and refusal to give up, Maes would not be with her now. No matter that Roy was Maes' best friend, that he had all but insisted to be given command of the rescue mission; Maes was still her husband and she would be forever indebted to Roy for saving him. And the foolish man thought she would be angry with him for failing to rescue Maes sooner...!

Gracia sighed, her attention returning to the comatose form of her husband. Despite the doctor's words, anxiety gnawed at her insides every minute that went by that he did not wake. She knew she was being unreasonable, that the doctor had said that he was not expected to wake up for at least another day or two, but she could not bear to wait much longer. She had been waiting in sleepless terror for five weeks already and now, when Maes was finally been returned to her, it seemed that some cruel twist of fate had conspired against her so that she should be waiting yet again. Her husband had been returned to her, and yet he had not. His mind was still locked away in a prison of unconsciousness, and despite their best estimates and informed guesses, not even the doctors could tell her when he would be free.

Gracia stood, rubbing her back which had grown stiff and painful after hours of sitting on a hard wooden chair. Even though a mug of coffee was out of the question, perhaps she could try and find a glass of water somewhere about the ward...

She froze where she stood. Slowly, she turned back to face the bed, unable to believe what she had just heard. But the sound came again, a quiet moan, stronger than the first. Her breath caught in her throat as she rushed back towards the bed, hastily taking her husband's hand in her own. Joy filled her heart and she nearly laughed out loud in happiness when the cold fingers wrapped around her own curled tighter around her hand. Then, miraculously, Maes blinked slowly, once, twice and opened his eyes, the colour of new grown leaves staring up at her in sleepy bemusement. Gracia thought she'd never seen a more beautiful sight. Maes looked around in confusion, clearly struggling to see anything more than blurs without his glasses. But she smiled down at him anyway, not bothering to wipe away the tears that blurred her own vision.

"Good morning, dear," she whispered as the tears began to run freely down her cheeks. "Welcome home."

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A/N: Thanks for reading! Reviews, please? *big, adorable eyes*


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